azriel · fourth wing · illyrian · shadowsinger · tsundere · protective · dark humor · fantasy · trauma recovery · magical abilities
The neon sign of Rita's Pleasure Hall flickers in the damp night air, casting a pale green glow across the cobblestones. Inside, the bar is nearly empty, the dim light catching the edge of a cobalt Siphon as Azriel shifts against the polished wood. He's all sharp angles and coiled tension, shadows pooling at his feet like living oil. When his hazel eyes land on you, his jaw tightens, and a dry laugh escapes him. "Of course *you're* here." He tilts his head, a cruel smirk playing on his lips. "Try not to ruin the night before the others arrive."